


Eigwen's Journal

by SciTea_exe



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: D&D NPC, F/M, Journal, M/M, Multi, NPC Journal, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SciTea_exe/pseuds/SciTea_exe
Summary: Hello hello! What you're about to read is the journal excerpts of an NPC from my own campaign. This will be in chronological order, so there's no need to skip around searching for what comes next.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

This is my first entry. It’s December 14th, 1638. My parents got me this infinite journal so that I can record my life journey or something like that. It’s weird that they keep telling me to use it. It’s not like they recorded their lives in a useless book. I guess I have to introduce myself. This is gonna get real boring real fast. I’m Eigwen Azwick, but you can call me-no forget that. It’s not like anyone’s gonna read this. Plus you're just a dumb journal. Great, now I’m calling it a person. Whatever. Signing off or something…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eigwen is a moon elf with pitch black hair, silver eyes, and grey skin with hints of blue. His hair is falls down to his lower back with the top section up in a lose ponytail and several chunks in the front on each side braided with silver foil and ringed jewelry. His style is more lavish and noble-like. He wears embroidered coats and flowing shirts, elegant pants and the occasional silk belt wrap. He tends to lean more towards ankle boots crafted by the finest leather workers, and refrains from wearing hats since he thinks it ruins his hair. He loves fine jewelry such as rings and necklaces. At fancy gatherings, he'll put the extra effort in the put on makeup like eyeliner and eyeshadow as well as dress his best as to stand out amongst a crowd. He is currently 700 (Human Years), but in this excerpt he is 65 (aka 13 in Elf Years).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Death, Suicide, Murder

This is my second entry. It’s August 21st, 1950. Seeing as I’ve already introduced myself, I won’t be rewriting my name. Much has been missed since then, so I suppose I’ll fill...you?...in. I wonder if “you” is used to refer to the journal or that who’s reading this. I should be the only person to ever lay eyes on this, however. This will not be becoming an autobiography. If anyone other than me sees this, well, I suppose I can’t do anything about that if I pass away. This book is resistant to every kind of damage, so it would be hard to destroy if I wanted it gone. It holds all my secrets. My whole life. My adventures, accomplishments, failures, and so much more. I just hope whoever does read this can understand where I came from. I hope “you” understand. Hope is such a fickle thing though.

Anyways, there’s much to catch up on.

I grew up in a small town in the south of Rebida, Qeskana on Earth. I realise there are many universes which call their planet Earth, but I thought I’d add that detail anyways. I was raised by my mother, father, and aunt. I had two older sisters and one younger sister. We had a family dog named Leo, he was a shepherd mix and used to be a farm dog before we got him as a puppy. My mother worked as a seamstress while my father was often out of the house deployed someplace else. My aunt was a lot older and a widow. She had never been employed since her life was devoted to her husband and daughter before they both passed in a house fire. She moved in with us when I was five and had taken care of me and my siblings when our parents couldn’t. Eventually, my oldest sister, Emilia, had run off with the love of her life, claiming he was her soulmate and nothing could stand between them. We never heard back from her after she left.

I was ten when my next older sister got a job in another country as a farmer. I remember crying when she left. She had always been my favourite. She would take me out late at night when we weren’t supposed to be out of bed and she’d help me climb the side of the town bridge to the top where we sat until just before sunrise gazing up at the stars and talking about the world. Most of what we talked about was theoretical since neither of us had gone far from home before. She used to bake us all banana nut bread and sing songs while she did the dishes. She’d be there when I was hurt and be the shoulder for our mom to cry on.

Three days after Emelia left for her new job, I recall a strange man coming to our front door and telling my mother the heartbreaking news. He held his hat so solemnly at his stomach, his gaze was so plain and sad when he spoke. She wept for hours alone in her room, crying out my father’s name with a broken scream. I didn’t understand it then, I was too young, but he was no longer with us.

My mother typically made us breakfast every morning, it was the least she could do for us outside of work. That morning I remember heading downstairs to an empty kitchen. My younger sister, aunt, and mom were nowhere in sight. There was a loud bang from upstairs, and quickly after that more crying. It wasn’t my mother that time, though. I blamed my aunt for all the deaths and those who left. I beat her stomach until I was a weeping mess on the floor. My younger sister watched in horror and confusion while my aunt struggled to breath before me...it’s still hard to think about that day.

So much changed after that.

So much had changed after I was born.

My father hadn’t ever been deployed until several days after my birth. I recall my eldest sister blaming me for everything, and she was right to. 

My sister and I were taken separately to our own homes, well, she was taken by the government to be dealt with. She had most likely been adopted by a nice family and raised well. I, however, was accused of murder of my aunt, therefore taken to a home where many boys my age, younger, and older were forced to stay in order to go through a sort of recovery program. That’s when I was introduced to my mentor. Jonah Wheathers. He was a fighter-monk and a wonderful teacher. It was a shame I’d already made a turn for the worst and he was far too late to turn me back. I acted my best to appear like I was getting better. I got straight As in all of my classes and went to as many clubs as I could. I had to prove to them that I was better than that ruthless child. 

I hadn’t meant to kill her, not even hurt her. She had died from an asthma attack. She had been crying over my mother’s suicide and my punching her, despite my weak arms, had pushed her to the point of death. I didn’t even know I’d killed her until they told me I was accused of murder. My mentor was understanding of the situation. I enjoyed his company for that. He was easily swayed into believing me. Believing that I was turning into a better person. That was until I took his life, too. It felt forced and I felt sick with myself for doing it, but looking back on that, I’m glad it was done. 

There is no stopping fate and destiny, and that’s something I had to come to terms with. 

Do I want to be a better person? I’m not sure. Do I want to continue how I am now as a person? I suppose only to see how it ends. 

So, “you’ve” missed much, but there is more to come, I know it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Death, Blood, Murder

“All for nothing at all.” My mentor’s last words after I’d quickly pierced his chest with my sword. It was by accident, really, or so I’d claimed. “All that training and for what? I treated you like my own son, Eigwen. I wanted you to be a better person and you were improving so well...but it was all for nothing, I see.” He was slouched against the cold marble, desperately clinging onto life by a unravelling thread.

My sword clattered against the ground, my grip on it had become oddly loose. That is what I had planned to do. To kill him. Why, I didn’t really understand. But I shouldn’t have been so shocked. The amount of crimson blood trickling out around his fingers and spilling to the tiles below made me gag. “Why?” I almost forgot where I was for a moment I was so entranced by the blood that ran along canals. I recall laughing uncontrollably, his eyes slowly losing their warm light.

“Don’t you get it old man? I was never getting better.”

Things were different then.

After my parents and my family. After my mentor. After my first love. Worlds were different after my birth. 

Everything had changed so quickly, more quickly than I would have liked.

If it were up to me, I’d rather not have been born at all.

Perhaps then there could be more peace…


	4. Chapter 4

I’ve been wandering aimlessly these past few weeks. Travelling from town to town pondering the meaning of life and what I should do next. At first, I was merely on the run after killing my mentor, but now I don’t seem to know where to go. An old woman was nice enough to let me stay the night in her spare bedroom. She said she enjoyed the company. She’s long been asleep now, so I sit by the fire in her living room alone. Staring at the flickering flames deep in thought. Well, I suppose I’ve been staring at this journal longer since I have been writing as I think. What do I want in life? I’ve always wanted to see the world, to meet new people, to learn new things. A part of me wishes I could feel something after what I did. I didn’t even feel thankful when she invited me into her home. Of course I verbally thanked her for her kindness, but I didn’t feel what I said. Perhaps I’m overthinking...


End file.
